Astonishment in Mirkwood
by Soledad
Summary: Sequel to 'Little Bird', with less anguish and a very silly working title. The adventures of Thorin & Co. in Mirkwood - as Legolas might have seen it.
1. Chapter 1: Autumn Festival

ASTONISHMENT IN MIRKWOOD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the typos and the weird grammar. Sue me and all you get are the typos. Are you sure that you want them?

**Rating:** G

**Summary:** Making preparations for the yearly Autumn Festival, Thranduil and his seneschal, old Galion, discuss the financial problems of the Woodland Kingdom. Thranduil is often portrayed as a greedy Elf. Even by Tolkien himself. I see it differently. Read this chapter, and you might see it differently, too.

**Dedication:** to JastaElf, with love. Happy belated birthday!

**Author's notes:**

I started this as a short vignette in a fuming fit I got after having seen the umpteenth fic about how poor Legolas was abused by his evil father. I am the Chairwoman of the Sisterhood of Thranduil-Defenders, and until I find the time to write his life story, I felt the need to do something against all the hatred the poor Elvenking has to face nowadays – without any canon facts to support it.

However, in the meantime it developed into a full, multi-chaptered story – actually a re-write of certain parts of ''The Hobbit''; more precisely, those telling the adventures of Thorin & Co, from Legolas' POV. Also, this is a humour fic, containing awful lots of acerbic footnotes. I now some people find that annoying. In that case, may I point out the Back button to them? It's still not too late.

All the others: enjoy! Oh, and my heartfelt thanks to Judy and Nemis for beta-reading and taking care of the whole grammatical mess. And yes, I know that there is not such word as inventars in English. I kept it because it sounded so wonderfully quirky.

CHAPTER 1: AUTUMN FESTIVAL

[Mirkwood, in the year 2980 of the Third Age](1)

Seasonal feasts were usually highly valued among Elves. Even more so among the Silvan folk who were bound to the changes of nature by many roots, right down to changing the colour of their hair with the change of the seasons(2).

Most important of all feasts was for Wood-Elves the Autumn Festival, for this was the time when their beloved forests were at their most beautiful, the leaves turning into the rich, warm colours of red and brown and gold, the few still edible fruits the darkened forest was able to bring forth ripening, and the new wine arriving from Laketown, the Woodland Realm's most important trading partner.

The Elvenking of Mirkwood was sitting in his study on this particular day. It was one of the large caverns of the royal wing, carved into the side of the mountain a very long time ago. It adjoined his throne room on one side, and his bedchamber – a lonely and cold place since the horrible death of his beloved wife – on the other one. It was a beautiful room, and one he had used for many hundreds of years, and it spoke about his scholarly interests. Shelves filled with book after book(3) lined the walls, and a heavy, beautifully carved oaken desk stood in the middle of the airy room, cluttered with parchments and scrolls. A small table sat in front of the balcony doors, which stood wide open to the mountainside, and a light breeze blew the curtains about(4). The table was set with a bottle of wine and two small cups. And it was at this table that King sat pouring the wine.

Unlike his subjects, Thranduil Oropherion was not a Wood-Elf. Well – not entirely, at least. In his veins flowed the noble blood of Sindarin and Nandorin princes, _and_ he was closely related to the Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien(5). He was tall and slender as the Eldar, the noble-Elves usually are, with an elegantly-shaped, fine face and had long, honey-blond hair of a rich, deep colour that rarely could be seen among Elves and was a result of his mixed heritage.

At the moment he was wearing the usual green and brown garb of the woodland folk, his hair braided tightly away from his face so that it did not bother him in his work. For the King was working – doing the most hated work he could ever think of: inventars. Yet disliked as it was, it was also necessary – now, shortly before the Autumn Festival, more so than ever.

Behind the desk of the Elvenking an older Elf sat: his childhood tutor and most valued advisor, the seneschal of his palace, one of the eldest of his whole people. An Elf named Galion. Calling himself humbly the King's butler, Galion had practically run the day by day business in the whole palace, ever since it had been hewn out of the living stone of the mountain.

Once he had done the same for Thranduil's grandfather, Elmö, King of the First City of the Quendi, that had been built in the starlight before the Great Journey of the Elves to Valinor. Then he did it for Oropher, Thranduil's father. And if the Lady Palúrien(6) was merciful, he would do it for Legolas, once he took over the burden of kingship from his father.

Galion was one of those rare Elves who showed fine signs of aging. For one thing, his hair was snow-white, and he wore it unbraided, adorned only by two delicate plaits above his ears. In his forgotten youth, before the making of the Sun and the Moon, he had been pale-haired – not ash blond like those of the Nandor tribe, but pale gold like the young winter sun, for he was very ancient, indeed, born at a time when this rare colour was more common among the Quendi. But after uncounted centuries of grief and all that horror he had seen in his long life, his tresses began to turn white, little by little, almost invisibly, 'til he ended up like a snow-covered mountain peak, as people said in the Wood.

Also, there were deep furrows of grief around his mouth and his nose, and permanent dark rings under his eyes, all of which gave his face a hawk-like look. But in those dark eyes there was wisdom and love – love for the young folk among which he was living, but first and foremost for his King and his family. Alas, that there were so very few left of this family whom he still could give his love and support!

Right now, however, his support was very much asked for and very much appreciated. So, while the King continued sipping on his wine, his seneschal was reading the inventory list for him. It was not a very cheerful reading, and the longer Thranduil listened to it,  the grimmer his face became.

''At least we have enough wine for the feast,'' he finally sighed. ''Even if the wild berries have brought an uncommonly low harvest this year. And our hunters have been less than lucky lately.''

Galion nodded, gloomily. Who knew this better than he, who spent his whole life overseeing the daily events of the kingdom?

''I fear that we shall have to buy food from Laketown again,'' he answered ill-humouredly.

''And how, pray you, should we pay for it?'' the Elvenking asked, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. ''They charge us the highest prices, for they firmly believe that all Elves have great riches hoarded in their homes – and even more so their King. Besides, we still are lagging behind with the payment for the last two loads of wine, butter and apples.''

''Ummm…'' Galion cleared his throat uncomfortably. ''For the last _four_ shipments, actually.''

Thranduil glared at him in utter disbelief. ''We have not paid them for _four_ years? And they are still willing to trade with us?''

''Certainly,'' Galion answered with a wry face. ''For this way they can demand a higher price from us for every new shipment than for the previous one. At the end we have no-one else to turn to, and they know that, alas.''

''What about the Woodmen?'' the King asked. ''We had little to do with them during the last two hundred years or so, but they used to be friendly towards us.''

Galion shook his head in sorrow. ''Ever since the coming of the Dragon, they have had great losses, both in people and in harvests. They can barely feed themselves. Beorn's people are a little better off, but they are few. They could never provide us enough food, not even if we paid them twice their common price. Which we cannot.''

''I know _that,_'' the Elvenking replied darkly. ''Ever since my wife died in Dol Dúgol(7), we have been unable to hold up the further poisoning of the soil. She was the last of the earth-healers of the Silvan folk; and unless those who still have the power to drive the Necromancer out of Dol Dúgol, this forest will slowly become as bad as Mordor itself. If the Lord of the Golden Wood did not provide us with the corn for _lembas_(8), we could not make it through the winter season on our own.''

''These are unsettling times, indeed,'' Galion agreed with a discouraged nod. ''So, what shall we do, my Lord? Empty the last remnants of our treasure chambers – or cancel the Autumn Festival altogether?''

''Neither of those,'' the King answered, a stubborn look on his face. ''We need what little still remains in our treasure chambers for new, better weapons; for the threat from the Orcs and the Giant Spiders is increasing. We cannot stay defenceless. But we cannot cancel the Festival, either. 'Twould be admitting defeat, and I am not willing to do so just yet. Besides, our people need some merriment, or the darkness will eat up their souls.''

''So what then?'' Galion asked, a little impatiently. ''Should I try to speak with the Master of Laketown again? I can do so, without hurting my pride. Yet I fear that this time the price would be very high, indeed.''

''Nay, we cannot do that either,'' Thranduil sighed. ''We are already drowning in our debts as it is. We shall have to send out hunting parties to the South again. This way we shall have at least some meat for the festival.''

Galion gulped. Hunting had become increasingly dangerous in the last two hundred years or so, due to the Orcs, Wargs and Giant Spiders infesting the forest in ever-increasing numbers, despite the best efforts of the Elven archers to hunt down and destroy them. Therefore, the King had strictly limited the hunting trips into the darker, more dangerous southern part of the forest – which, unfortunately, had always been a much better hunting ground than the north of Mirkwood. Since the woodland folk had hunted mostly near their home lately, the deer and wild boar naturally began to flee to the South, leaving less and less prey available for the hungry mouths.

Under normal circumstances Thranduil would never allow his people to cross the Old Forest Road for a hunting trip. Yet the need had become uncommonly great this very year, and having the Autumn Festival cancelled because of the lack of enough food to celebrate would have caused more harm than the likely loss of one or two archers – a loss he would prefer to avoid but did not really hope he could. The woodland folk had suffered so much lately; they needed the feast with its merriment, songs and moonlit dances more than they needed food. Elves could go on without nourishment of the body a long time. Their spirits, however, _needed_ to be nourished. And feasts were the best way to do so.

''If you let the people go south, you cannot hold the young Prince back,'' Galion warned his King gravely. Thranduil sighed.

''I know that, _nín mellon_. Yet what can I do? My son is no little elfling any more, no matter how much I fear for his safety. He is over three thousand years old and a seasoned warrior. If he wants to go, I have no right nor the power to keep him here.''

''What about the Lady Indreâbhan(9) and her people?'' Galion asked, trying to change the topic. ''Are they coming to the Festival?''

''Indeed, they are,'' the King's mood seemed to lighten a little at this thought; then he became pensive again and added: ''And I intend to announce her betrothal to Legolas officially, right after the Ceremony.''

''Would that be wise?'' Galion questioned carefully, his pale brow furrowing in concern. ''I thought she and the young Prince had an… understanding.''

''They do,'' Thranduil said, clearly disliking the fact, ''but it concerns their final bond only. Besides, _I do_ have an… understanding with my son, too. He agreed to marry the Princess, while I accepted the delay. So, a betrothal is the middle of the way, where we all meet.''

''Does the Lord Aghavannagh know of your intention?'' Galion asked, knowing that the Nandorin Prince, whose subjects lived in scattered settlements between Mirkwood and the Great River, was an extremely proud and headstrong Elf – just like Thranduil himself. ''He would wish to witness the betrothal of his only daughter, I deem.''

''He does; and he will,'' Thranduil replied, grinning. ''The whole family is coming. We shall hold the bonding ceremony of his only son among other things, after all.''

Galion looked at his King in surprise. This wedding had been awaited by the people of both realms for a long time, yet no-one knew that the two Lords had already decided about the day – until now.

''Let us hope they will bring their own food'', he commented; with their reluctance to eat meat, Nandor Elves were considered the worst possible guests in Mirkwood where  there was not much else to eat. Especially on a royal wedding.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Having done the burdensome (and very discouraging) inventars, Galion left his King's study and went over to the chamber of the Home Guards, to find their captain, a tall, dark-haired Elf named Orendil, for they had to discuss the matters of the Autumn Festival in detail. The woodland folk usually celebrated the Festival in the circle of their extended families – clans probably would have been a better word for it – which meant that they had to secure several large clearings near the Elvenking's hidden city for the festive communities. These feasts had been held in the open ever since the Elder Days, and no amount of peril could have kept the Wood-Elves from following their Ages-old traditions.

''We have to ask for the help of Silinde(10) and her archers,'' Orendil said, distractedly. ''Fortunately, at least the Spiders seem to behave in this season. We have not seen any of them on this side of the Old Forest Road for many a moon.''

''We cannot count on them, I fear, at least not yet,'' Galion shook his head. ''The King has decided to allow hunting parties south of the road again.''

''Oh!'' Orendil's eyes lit up in delight. ''Do you believe the King would be willing to prepare the meal for the opening ceremony himself? He has not done so for many rounds of the Sun, and I would _love_ to taste his cooking again.''

''So would I,'' Galion admitted, ''and if the hunters are successful, we might even convince him to do so. If only to annoy the Lord Aghavannagh with his famous roasted venison haunch(11).''

Orendil's only answer was an evil grin. The cooking skills of Mirkwood's King were legendary – every one who had tried his roasted venison haunch (with fried mushrooms and blueberry sauce) discovered a whole new meaning of the word ''delicacy'' – and the Nandorin Lord's unwillingness to eat aught but fruits and various plants often led to some very un-kingly bickering between the two of them, despite the fact that the Lord Aghavannagh, leader of the remaining Green-Elves who had somehow found their way back from Ossiriand to the East, was related from afar to Thranduil's late mother.

The two Lords had been friends for two Ages or even more, and they had spent nearly all that time with arguing over fairly unimportant things. Galion, however, knew all too well how important to his King this constant bickering was – it helped Thranduil to keep his sometimes volatile temper under control, while having someone who was his equal to share his true concerns with – something he had not had on a daily basis since the death of his wife.

''They will find a way to get along,'' he murmured with a tired smile, more to himself than to his friend. ''They always do. And if I know the Lord Aghavannagh half as well as I hope I do, they _will_ bring their own food… and more. They know our King would never ask, but they also know we are in sore need. Mayhap this Festival will turn out better than we have hoped for.''

''That might be,'' Orendil answered slowly, ''but what will happen _after_ the Festival? Our people cannot live on song alone.''

''I know not'', Galion sighed. ''Yet I hope the Lady Palúrien shall be merciful, as she always has been… or that something happens to change things in the forest for the better.''

Of course, he could have no idea about the changes that were already coming. For a company of thirteen Dwarves, one cranky old wizard and one frightened hobbit had already left Beorn's house and was approaching the forest.

Fate could take on strange forms, indeed.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Yes! There actually _is_ a counting of years in Tolkien's universe. Good grief, events even take _time_ to happen, regardless of what the movie might suggest.

(2) Actually, this is _not_ a canon fact. Just something I came up for my other story, ''Innocence'', and I liked the idea so much that I kept it.

(3) Yes! He actually _could_ read and – merciful Valar! – even _liked_ to read. Whenever the Orcs, the Giant Spiders and other friendly neighbours allowed him some spare time to do so.

(4) Now, you don't really believe that someone who adapted to the lifestyle of the Silvan Elves would live in a dark, windowless cavern? Well, I don't. So I took some liberty here, presuming that Thranduil's palace had windows and balconies that looked out of the mountain. The original idea comes from Dwimordene, BTW.

(5) It's complicated. Let me just say that I created a family tree for Thranduil which makes him the first cousin of Celeborn, both being the grandsons of Thingol's brother, Elmö.

(6) Older name for Yavanna. I assumed the woodland folk would keep using it.

(7) Earlier, abandoned name of Dol Guldur which I imagined a traditionalist like Thranduil would still be using. In my stories, Thranduil's wife, a Silvan woman, died about a hundred years before the Ring War.

(8) Since the corn of _lembas_ is supposed to grow under starlight, I see not why Mirkwood Elves would not know it.

(9) The Lady Indreâbhan and her family are the remnants of the once numerous Nandor Elves of Ossiriand. They are adopted from an original story of mine (where they were the Elves of the Moon), and all their names are actually Scandinavian settlements. No genuine Elvish here. Sorry.

(10) According to the Customized Card Game, Silinde was an Elf of Mirkwood in the movie. I made her a female Nandor Elf and captain of the Mirkwood archers. None of this is canon, of course. I just liked the idea of a female archer captain. I might change the name later, though.

(11) The Great Maker said that Elven Men were very good at cooking. Thranduil's speciality was envisioned by Ithilwen.


	2. Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

ASTONISHMENT IN MIRKWOOD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the typos and the weird grammar. Sue me and all you get are the typos. You sure that you do want them?**

**Rating: G**

**Summary: The Nandor Elves from Dor-Lelmin(1) finally arrive, and Legolas has to keep his promise.**

**Author's notes: **

The Nandor Elves in this chapter were originally characters of my very own fantasy universe. Their names are not genuine Elven names. They were always called like that, and I grew fond of the names, so I simply decided they would come from some obscure Danian dialect.

The story is still not very humorous, I fear – in fact, even less so than Chapter 1. So sorry! I swear I wanted it to be light-hearted, but these Wood-Elves are such a stubborn lot! I will keep trying, though, I promise.

My sincerest thanks to Gemma who took over the heavy burden of beta-reading this story. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Chapter 2: Promises to Keep

Silinde, captain of the Mirkwood archers, usually liked the seasonal feasts in the Palace. Even if it meant that her troops, together with the House Guard, had to watch the celebrations in shifts and got very little from the overall merriment themselves.

She did not mind being on duty all the time. Having lost her husband in the Battle upon Dagorlad, she had no-one to celebrate with anyway. Her only son, Rhimlath, refused to go the way of the warrior and chose to become Galion's right hand, calling himself modestly a mere servant of the Palace. Rhimlath, too, was on heavy duty during the Autumn Festival, and what little free time he could spare, he would want to spend with his young wife. They had entered the bond of matrimony less than a decade ago and were still in what Silinde called the cuddling phase.

Not that she would mind that, either. She was happy that her son was_ finally bound with his beloved – everyone could see that their bond was a strong one, one that would last 'til the end of Arda. 'Til they faded away together. For the Silvan folk, part of which Silinde considered herself, despite her Nandorin origins, never thought beyond that which was on this side of the Sea._

What she truly _did_ mind, however, was the obligation to dress up nicely and partake in courtly events. Especially _this_ one.

Originally, Silinde and her whole family belonged to the Lord Aghavannagh's people, and they had even dwelt in his small realm, Dor-Lelmin, for half the Second Age. But one day Silinde accompanied her parents to a festival in Eryn Galen, and at Oropher's court she met Nínnagor, her future husband. They fell in love and married fairly quickly – faster, indeed, than was the custom of Elves, and Rhimlath was born only a few years before the Last Alliance of Elves and Men was formed.

During these years, Silinde learned Sindarin in the court, though most of the Silvan people kept their own speech, and the Grey Tongue was only used in council meetings. Ninmaeth, a Master Bowman from another Nandor tribe, was part of these meetings, and after his death Silinde took over from him. She also learned to eat meat – something she adapted to rather eagerly, for Prince Thranduil (not yet King at that time) had already become a very talented cook, and never tired of provin his talent. But she was very much aware of how much the Lord Aghavannagh despised what he called his people lowering themselves to the rustic Silvan customs.

But being part of the Royal council, Silinde could not avoid facing the dismay of her former Lord. So she put on the pale silk shirt and the long silvery-grey cloak that were customary among the Forest nobility on important occasions (she always dressed like the males of her people) and hurried down to the King's Gates_[comma] as the magic doors of the Palace were called. She was almost late already, having spent too much time brooding in her chambers._

The King was there already, clad in a silver-embroidered russet robe and a soft, silver-grey cloak as was his wont. To honour the occasion – and his most important ally – he even wore a delicately-woven _mithril circlet upon his brow. This simple circlet was one of the very few hereditary treasures he had not yet been forced to give away for food or weapons. One of most ancient pieces that had__ made it out from the burning ruins of the First City, entrusted to Galion's care by Elmö himself, the Eldest King of the Faithful._

On the King's left stood Nelladel(2), his silver-haired sister, with her husband Maelduin(3), a Doriathrim noble and chief counsellor to the court, and their daughter, fair young Silivren(4). On his right, clad, for a change, according to his royal heritage instead of in the simple garb of a common archer, stood Prince Legolas, and Silinde felt a dull ache in her chest, for the young Prince resembled very much her beloved Queen, in spite of his delicate features that clearly came after Thranduil. The grief over the horrible fate of Queen Lálisin was still much too near, and all those that felt the pain of her_ loss dearly, turned their love now to her only surviving son._

Not that Legolas had not been beloved among his father's subjects before – far from that_(it)_. But Queen Lálisin, last descendant of Nurwë and the last of the Earth-healers and truly powerful Wise Women of the Wood, had a very special place in the hearts of the Silvan folk, and now that Legolas was all that had been left from her, he naturally occupied that now-empty place in his mother's stead.

_Not by the natives of the Wood alone, Silinde admitted, while greeting the assembled members of the Court and taking her customary place at Galion's side. The Sindar who had come with Oropher, and the Nandor who chose to live under the King's rule, all loved and admired the valiant young Prince, who not only had the safest hand with the bow and the keenest eyes in the whole forest and beyond, but also was well-mannered, educated and all in all, pleasant company._

_If he only had not fallen victim to the charms of that Peredhel, Silinde thought angrily, _he would long have been married to the Lady Indreâbhan, and mayhap the King would have handled over the throne to him already_. This… madness that had gone on for some four hundred years caused the King great sorrow, and the whole Court shared the sentiment. It could not be helped, however. As if under some kind of spell, the Prince flatly refused to end the unfortunate affair, and wed his chosen bride, as long as his lover still remained in Middle-earth. One could only hope that the Peredhel would leave soon, letting the Prince return to a life that suited the son of a woodland King._

"They are coming!" one of the keen-eyed guards called from a higher balcony, jerking the Captain of the archers outof her grim musings. And indeed, at the end of the long, arched tunnel, created by the huge beeches on both sides of the path, a soft glimmer already appeared, slowly approaching the Palace.

Soon it was divided into many gleaming spots, lined up in a single file, and after another short while all could see that the spots, in truth, were three riders and about a dozen other Elves, walking on foot, leading a long line of heavily loaded beasts of burden. The Lord of Dor-Lelmin had not come with empty hands, it seemed, and Galion slowly let out a breath he had not even been aware of holding.

Watching the slow approach of her tribe, Silinde could not help but feel proud of her people. The family of the Lord Aghavannagh was a very noble and ancient one – both him_(he)_ and the Lady Vâsterdalawen could track their origins back to Lenwë himself, albeit along different lines, and this showed clearly in their looks. Tall and proud they were, even for Elves, and of a more slender build than the Silvan folk – just like Thranduil, their kinsman(5). Their long hair, adorned only with delicate, thin braids, fell down like silk, gleaming white-golden like moonlight, and their long eyes were wide and surprisingly dark.

Unlike Thranduil's family, they never married outside the tribe, so the ancient Nandorin features – especially the high cheekbones and foreheads, but also the long, slender limbs and the narrow shoulders – remained among them as no-where else. They looked cool, elegant, detached – every bit as ignorant Men usually imagined Elves to be.

The horses they rode were magnificent, said to be the only ones that could match the _mearas_ of the Rohirrim, and so very different from the smaller, changing-coloured ones of the Silvan folk. These were big, yet graceful and clean-limbed, with coats like pure silver, dotted with small white drops all over their bodies. Their long tails and wavy manes were the same pale gold as the hair of their riders, and each of them bore a small white star in the middle of its forehead. They moved with easy grace, even the more common, dark grey ones carrying the heavy bags, as if they were dancing in the fading evening light.

All Elves of the princely escort were clad in white, just like their Lord and his family, save for_ the soft grey cloaks upon their shoulders, the secret of whose making they had brought from Hithlum to Dor-Lelmin Ages ago. The only other place this sort of cloth was still woven was the Golden Wood, the other strong Silvan realm in Middle-earth._

The Lord Aghavannagh was about the King's age – only a hundred years older or even less, Silinde was not entirely sure. Very tall he was, taller even than Thranduil himself, though only by an inch or so, and his easy manner radiated a strength that belied his elegant appearance. He was clad in similar, though more rich garments as his subjects, and upon his brow he wore an unadorned silver circlet with a star-shaped white gem in the middle. He might not be called King by his people, yet in his small but fertile realm he possessed unquestioned authority. Not to mention that he was kinsman and most important ally to the mighty King of Mirkwood.

On his left – the heart-side – rode his wife, the Lady Vâsterdalwen – tall and willowy, fair and very wise. Her wisdom might be less ancient and her earth magic less powerful than that of the late Queen Lálisin, for no-one, not even the Green-Elves understood the Earth-mother (as they called Arda) as deeply as the remaining Faithful; yet she was loved and respected among her people nevertheless. For after the perishing of the Silvan Queen, she was the Lady closest to the very roots of the Woodland Folk.__

Prince Egilstadir, the Heir of Dor-Lelmin, rode on his father's right. He was considerably older than his sister, being about the same age as Thranduil's third-born son, Orchal(6),_ had been, even though he looked not a day older than Legolas himself. Yet Egilstadir had fought through the War of the Elves and Sauron that continued throughout half of the Second Age(7);and he had stood upon the battle plaine of Dagorlad, leading the Nandorin archers in his gravely wounded father's stead, and a thin scar – the remainder of a poisoned wound across his left cheek – showed that he faced his enemies unwavering 'til the last moment._

And yet, despite all that he had seen, Egilstadir remained a merry, easy-mannered Elf, unlike many that had faced the same horrors – mayhap because he had not lost any of his beloved ones.

Princess Indreâbhan, on the other hand, was fairly young for an Elf, born shortly after Sauron had been defeated. She was slightly shorter than the other members of her family and looked less aloof, more delicate. She had a fair, oval-shaped face, a soft smile and dark eyes that sparkled with mischief. Silinde knew, however, that the Princess was aught but weak – she had_ taught her the fine tricks of archery and knife-fight personally, and Indreâbhan was very good at them. Even though her main interests were of _[a] _more peaceful nature – those of earth-magic and healcraft._

In the years of her childhood she was taught by the Queen herself. Later she spent long seasons in Lórinand, as a pupil of the Lady Galadriel; for due to her birth she was selected as the leader of the Ivonwin(8) in her father's realm, and who else could have taught her better than Galadriel who had been taught by Melian herself, the Queen of Doriath, who had given _lembas to the Elves in the first place?_

After that, Indreâbhan lived in Imladris for quite some time, learning the craft of the healers from Elrond, no less; and she became close friends with the Lady Arwen, Elrond's daughter, and Aquiel, the fiancée of Elrohir(9). Yet her heart yearned for the green fields of Dor-Lelmin, and as soon as her studies were complete, she returned to her father's realm.

Silinde watched as the guests were greeted by the King in the most ceremonial manner and thought about the luck of Prince Legolas. 'Twas not unknown to the Archer Captain that Elrond had proposed that_ the Lord of Dor-Lelmin marry the fair Princess to one of his sons (_before_ Elrohir had fallen in love with the Lady Aquiel, of course), and there were other young, unbound Elves of high birth that would consider themselves lucky had they been offered her hand._

Yet the Lord Aghavannagh preferred to bind his family to that of his royal liege through the bonds of matrimony rather than to that of the Half-Elven descendants of Noldorin Kings. With his son, he needed little persuasion, for Egilstadir fell for the glittering silver beauty of Silivren quickly enough. Indreâbhan hesitated longer to accept Legolas as her future husband, for at that time the young Prince was already devoted to the one he would never be allowed to bond with. But after a while she reluctantly agreed, though she kept the right to change her mind still.

Silinde often asked herself what the two could have discussed the whole night ere Indreâbhan finally gave her consent. That was a secret only the closest family knew – save Galion mayhap, who seemed to know just about everything that happened in the palace. Whatever it was, it looked as though the King had finally had enough – for the betrothal had been announced as the final act of the festivities, and though Legolas showed no outer sign of distress, Silinde knew him well enough to know that the Prince was decidedly unhappy with the way things had turned out.

Someone elbowed her in the ribs and she realized with a jolt that she had not yet greeted the noble guests. Hurriedly did she sink to one knee and lay a hand upon her heart, greeting the Lord of Dor-Lelmin in the ancient Danian dialect of her forefathers.

"May the stars of Elentári ever shine upon your paths, my Lord… my Lady," she said.

The Lord and Lady of Dor-Lelmin responded in kind, and soon the group of Nandor Elves was busy with unloading the goods from the horses, and the servants of the palace helped them to carry everything into the pantries deep inside the hill. Galion kept a close eye on this, for often did the younger servants misplace things in the pantries; also, he did not want the young elflings to sneak in and snatch anything for fun. Silinde considered to change back into casual clothes, but she could not be sure if she would be called before the royal family again, so she decided against it. She would be more careful when walking around and checking on the guards.

Thranduil, Nelladel and Maelduin retreated into one of the late Queen's terraced gardens, to exchange the most important tidings (as they had not spoken to each other in person for a full _loa; and while Silivren took Indreâbhan with her to discuss something only two young maidens would understand, Egilstadir and Legolas followed the horse-master to the open stables._

"So, your father is forcing the issue of your betrothal, I hear," said Egilstadir, after the horses had been taken care of to his satisfaction. They had been friends, Legolas and himself, for a long time, he taking over the role of an elder brother after all Thranduil's other sons had fallen in battle.

"He is," answered Legolas with a sigh," and I cannot blame him for it. I am his only son and his Heir, and in these dark times he is right to demand that I make an heir myself. Still, I find it cruel towards the Lady Indreâbhan. You know that I like her and respect her very much – but my heart is taken already. She deserves better than being second in line for my devotion."

"Do _you_ not deserve better?" replied Egilstadir quietly. "You know as well as I do that you, too, are second in line in your lover's heart. That will never change."

"I know," said Legolas sadly, "and I wish I had met your sister before I met him. For I could have fallen in love with her just as easily. But I cannot change my heart, either."

Egilstadir remained silent for a while. What Legolas had said was very true, of course, but Legolas was still rather young for an Elf, his judgement blinded by the intensity of his first love. Being considerably older, Egilstadir knew that things were a little more complicated, more so concerning the matters of the heart.

"I believe you underestimate my sister," he finally answered. "She knows very well what she is getting herself into – she has known from the moment when she agreed to become your wife – and I have the feeling that she is prepared to fight for you. To conquer your heart eventually."

Legolas gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. "Am I such a prize that it would be worth fighting for me?"

"You know you are," Egilstadir laughed, too. "Not all your suitors are interested in the Pence of Mirkwood only. Truly, I believe that most of them are interested in _you_. And why should they not? You deserve to be loved, _mellon-nîn."_

"I _am_ loved," said Legolas stubbornly.

"In a sense you are, I doubt it not," nodded Egilstadir, his dark eyes saddening; "nor is there any doubt that you did Middle-earth a great favour when you saved Elrond from fading. He is needed in the fight against the Darkness, even our fathers admit _that_ much. But his heart and soul is already bound to the Lady Celebrían, and nothing will ever change that. He might love you now – I do believe that his heart is big enough for you as well – but he loved _her first, and at the end it will be she to whom he will return. He never stopped loving her – you are only a substitute."_

"I know that." Legolas forced back his tears ruthlessly. "I have always known."

Egilstadir nodded in sympathy. He never doubted that Legolas would be honest with himself, even if it hurt.

"Then know this as well," he continued; "love can come in many shapes in the live_(life)_ of an Elf, and not just once – nor is it always obvious at the first sight. Would you believe me if I told you that neither of my parents was the other's first choice?"

Legolas stared at him in disbelief. "You cannot be serious! People sing lays about their love from Mirkwood to Lothlórien!"

"I _am_ serious," said Egilstadir with emphasis. "They both used to have other lovers whom they loved with all-consuming passion but lost ere the vows could be exchanged. 'Twas shared grief and the need for comfort that brought them together at first, and it took them half the First Age to understand what they had found in each other. Still, would you say that they do not love one another – or their children? That they are not happy together?"

The answer was so obvious that Legolas only shook his head. A stone troll could recognize the deep affection and love between the Lord and Lady of Dor-Lelmin. Seeing the dawning realization on his friend's face, Egilstadir smiled.

"I fell in love with Silivren at first sight," he added gently, "but that is only one way love can take. It can also grow out of friendship and understanding, if you give it a chance. You and Indreâbhan already have that much. Are you willing to let it evolve into something more?"

"I wish I had met her earlier," admitted Legolas, "for she is funny and mischievous and yet wise beyond her age – and she is as beautiful as Varda's stars. And I feel guilty that I cannot give her what she truly deserves."

"Not now, mayhap," Egilstadir agreed, "but one day you will."

Legolas shot him a doubtful look. "Are you certain?"

"As long as you keep an open mind and an open heart, yea, I am," answered Egilstadir, and stretched. "Now, let me change into something more suitable for the woods and let us have some fun. I have been looking forward to putting my woodcraft to the test for a long time. As peaceful and satisfying it is, life in Dor-Lelmin can get boring at times."

"I fear that there is not much we could find near our dwelling in these days," said Legolas solemnly. "Things have not been going well lately. My father has allowed us to cross the Old Forest Road to hunt in Southern Mirkwood again, just to fill our empty pantries once again."

Egilstadir paled a little hearing that. He had never thought things in Mirkwood would be this desperate. "Are you going out with one of the hunting parties?" he asked.

"Of course. I am the best archer in the Wood, my bow will be needed."

"You could get killed," Egilstadir reminded him. "Straying into the Necromancer's territory is something that should be avoided at all costs."

"So is starving," replied Legolas with a shrug," and I do not intend to get myself killed. I have been to Southern Mirkwood before – and I came back every time."

"Just be careful," warned Egilstadir; then, with a broad grin, he added, "and see that you do not return with empty hands. I want to see _that_ look on my father's face again when King Thranduil dishes up that famous roasted venison leg of his."

Legolas laughed. "You should have a taste one day."

But Egilstadir shook his head. "As long as our lands are fertile enough to feed us, I shall not eat animals. This has been the way of our people, ever since the Elder Days when they understood that the _Noegyth Nibin(10) whom they used to hunt like animals were, in truth, fellow incarnates. First it started out of fear that we might unwillingly slay other incarnates. Then it grew into respect toward the animals with which we shared our woods. Now it is part of what we are." He thought for a moment. "I fear Silivren will have a hard time getting used to it."_

"Not that she would have any other choice if she got naught else but plants to eat," Legolas grinned. "Is it agreed to, then? Are we going to have a double betrothal?"

Egilstadir nodded. "That is the plan, anyway. But unlike you, I intend to have the wedding on next Midsummer's Eve. I have been alone long enough."

They returned to the Feasting Hall of Thranduil, where a frugal meal had already been prepared for the guests, and Legolas felt for his father, whose embarrassment was apparent, at least to him. Fortunately, there was still enough wine to make the welcoming feast moderately appropriate – not that either the Lord or the Lady of Dor-Lelmin would make any remark. They knew all too well how harsh life in Mirkwood was, and that their own peace and safety was mostly due to the bravery of the Silvan archers who kept the dark things from crossing the woods.

Thus the meal lacked the two Lords' usual bickering about food and eating habits, for Aghavannagh would find it unseemly to mock his old friend in times of dire need; and they ate with little talk, listening to the minstrels instead. Not that Thranduil's court would have any true minstrels with the Gift, but some of his Silvan subjects were skilled enough with their small, hand-held lutes and sang pleasantly. Their songs were different from those of the High-Elves. Wilder, darker, filled with passion and also with joy and fire. These were not the melancholic songs of a fading people.

Legolas felt his heart fill with music and the joy of life, and without thinking, he rose from his seat and offered a hand to the Nandorin princess. "Care for a dance, my Lady?"

Indreâbhan smiled and took his hand without hesitation, her knee-long, pale golden hair sweeping over the seat she had just vacated like a heavy silk veil. They swung over to the unoccupied part of the Hall, moving in complete harmony as if they had done this all their life.

Egilstadir grinned at Silivren across the table. "What about us?"

He barely finished speaking when Silivren was on her feet already, eager to join her cousin and soon-to-be sister-in-law. Other young members of the court followed their lead shortly thereafter, leaving the elders to their own worries.

Thranduil watched his son, laughing and jesting and dancing with the fair Lady chosen for him by his father, and felt guilty. Never had arranged marriages been a custom in their House – his own father and grandfather had been free to choose their life-mates, and the same freedom had been granted him and his sister… yea, even his older children had been allowed to do so. But Legolas was his last son, his only hope to continue their line – the woodland folk could not afford the luxury of remaining childless, not even their future King. Death came all too easily in these dark days, and it was their duty to see that the Silvan folk would not lack leadership again.

"Do you not fear that we are making a grave mistake?" the King asked his friend. "Are we not making our children miserable by pushing them toward each other?"

The noble, ageless face of Aghavannagh remained unreadable. He did not give an answer for a while.

"I know not," he said finally. "I only know that I feel it necessary to get them bound, for the sake of our people. But mayhap we both have lived among mortals and in constant peril for too long. Mayhap we have begun to think as Men do. Mayhap the whole idea _was a mistake, after all."_

"Nay, it was not," the Lady Vâsterdalwen said quietly. "They do have what is needed to build a long and happy life together. They have much in common, yet they are still different enough to present a challenge for each other, time and again – 'tis a good match. The… obstacle will not be there forever. They are young. Time works for them."

"It certainly worked for us," her husband agreed with a faint smile. "Tell me, old friend – have you already stated your demand for the betrothal to take place at the end of the festival?"

"I have. And Legolas obeyed, albeit reluctantly."

"In that case we might have a problem," said the Lord of Dor-Lelmin with a sigh. "Indreâbhan has not made up her mind yet. Not about having her betrothal right now anyway."

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Land of the Elm-trees. A small Nandorin realm between the northwest of Mirkwood and the Greylin River.

(2) Means ''ringing-of-bells'', not a canon character. Since I gave Thranduil a silver-haired daughter (Celebwen), I thought there should be another one with silver hair in the family.

(3) Name borrowed from a legendary Irish voyager because of the nice sounding. Not a canon character.

(4) Another insignificant OC whose name means (white) glittering.

(5) In my stories Thranduil's mother is a granddaughter of Lenwë. Yes, I know. Elven inbreeding once again. shrugs What can I do? There were only so many royal families among them. And everybody being related to Thingol was Tolkien's idea, not mine.

(6) An earlier name for Galdor from the Grey Havens, who in turn was Legolas' predecessor in the early LOTR-drafts.

(7) The War of the Elves and Sauron began in the year 1697 (Second Age) and continued 'til the end of that Age (3441), ending with Sauron's defeat.

(8) Yavannildi (Quenya) – the 'maidens of Yavanna: Elven women, specially selected and taught to grow the corn from which _lembas_ was made and to make _lembas_ itself. No-one else was allowed to do this work but them.

(9) Another OC of mine. More about her can be found in "Innocence" and "A Tale of Never-ending Love".

(10) Petty-Dwarves. Actually, it was the Sindar who hunted them, not the Nandor, but the knowledge could have spread among the other tribes, too.


	3. Chapter 3: Choices

ASTONISHMENT IN MIRKWOOD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the typos and the weird grammar. Sue me and all you get are the typos. You sure that you do want them?**

**Rating: G**

**Summary: Learning that Indreâbhan is still unsure about their marriage, Legolas goes to the great ash tree to meditate.**

**Author's notes: **

These events are made up by me. There is no canon fact that could support my own ideas about Elven mysticism and such.

The fire-tree called _nargaladh is an invention of Dwimordene. It appears in her story "Roots" and was used with her permission._

The idea of the 13 Avari clans originates from Fan's wonderful story, "Moriquendi" – go and read it, you are going to _love_ it! I gave those clans a rather different history, though.

Alagos, whose name means "Storm of Wind", is an original character of mine. An ancient Avarin Elf who used to be the First Guard of King Nurwë of the Avari, the grandfather of Legolas' mother, Queen Lálisin. He was inspired by a wonderful photomanip by my good friend Archet, showing Sean Bean as a chestnut-haired Elf.

As always, my heartfelt thanks to Gemma for beta-reading. All remaining mistakes are my fault.

CHAPTER 3: CHOICES 

Legolas escaped from the dance after midnight and – as was his wont – sought refuge by the Great Ash that was considered a holy tree among the Faithful. As a little elfling he often had accompanied his mother when Queen Lálisin felt the need to renew her bonds with the earth and the waters, the winds and the trees. They used to make pilgrimages from the Emyn Duir to this place, back in the Second Age, and it had been a long journey, but at that particular time less perilous.

All trees were considered incarnations of Palúrien by the Faithful, but more than any other so the Holy Tree that stood on a wide, triangular patch of grassy earth, right where the Enchanted River and the Forest River met – where the former one lost its dark spell, no-one knew how or why. Legolas could remember vividly the maidens of his mother singing and dancing around the tree. He could remember Lálisin's serene face as the Queen bent down to take a handful of water from the small spring that broke free between the roots of the Great Ash and offer it to him to drink.

The prince lowered himself onto the still warm grass, cross-legged, his back straight like the bole of the Tree, his upturned palms resting upon his knees in the time-honoured gesture of openness and acceptance. His eyes firmly on the Ash, he opened his _fëa_ to the whisper of the leaves. Unlike other trees, the Great Ash never shed her(1) leaves 'til the end of the fading season. Tall and slender she was, the Tree of Life, her roots delving deep into the flesh of Arda, reaching towards the very centre of the bent world, washed by the living waters born among them. Her powerful branches reached out to the stars of Barathî, the winds of Manwë playing with them as with the strings of a living harp. She bound the starlit skies to the earth like a powerful anchor. She was old, very old, but under her smooth bark the juices still ran vigorously.

"She offers the most beautiful and gladdening image you can ever keep in your heart, young one," the deep, slightly rough voice spoke quietly behind Legolas. "Rich and fertile in form and effect she is, the Great Ash, giver of life and bread; the Holy Tree in which Palúrien's powers are stronger than anywhere else. As long as she stands, untouched by withering and darkness, we need not fear for our forests."

Legolas did not look back, nor did he stir when a dark figure – wrapped in a russet cloak of rough wool that seemed black in the darkness – sat down at his side. He had recognized the voice at once; besides, who else but Alagos, the Dark Elf, could have sneaked up to him unnoticed?

Alagos was the chief messenger and weapons master of King Thranduil, as he had been for King Oropher before, ever since the royal family had moved to the Greenwood, back at the beginning of the Second Age. Alagos was the one who had taught Legolas and his brothers everything about tracking, fighting and weapons – but who had also led their steps towards a profound understanding of the elements and the trees.

The Queen, whom Alagos had followed to Oropher's court in the first place, had taught her sons thatwhich was needed in peacetime. Alagos had taught them that_ which was needed in war. And no matter how great and fierce a__ warrior Thranduil was, there were things in which his sons bested him. For only those who had the blood of the Faithful in their veins could truly become _one_ with the forest. 'Twas Alagos' doing that Legolas had learned to fight as only the Faithful could._

"The trees are our very life," Alagos continued softly, his voice barely more than a murmur among the murmurs of the tree. "They guide us through the _loa(2) as they change with the changing seasons, and we change with them. They offer us shadow from the burning sun, they give us shelter from the stormy rains. We live among their branches, and should we die, our empty shells will be laid to rest there, too, until they turn to ashes."_

That last part surprised Legolas a little. "I never heard of such a_ custom," he said. The woodland folk usually buried their dead (alarmingly many of them in recent times) in the earth._

"'Tis an old one that only the Faithful keep," replied Alagos. "Elven bodies disintegrate quickly, and as the burial tree is always a _nargaladh_, no predators can touch our dead in that short time."

Legolas nodded distractedly. Climbing the _nargaladh_, the fire-trees of Mirkwood, was not an easy thing, even for a Wood-Elf, for the bark of these trees was moist and oily to the touch, and the hard outer layers contained a springy substance that felt like melted wax and went up in flames very easily.

"There is much the trees can teach us, young one," Alagos continued, "and their different nature can show us the difference of our own choices. The love which you have been nurturing in your heart for hundreds of years is like a _nargaladh – bright and wondrous it may be, but it can burn you easily. Its roots are strong, but go not deep enough to hold you safely."_

Legolas looked at the rough face of Alagos thoughtfully. Those hard features carried the memory of much pain and horror; all the darkness that Alagos had seen throughout the three Ages of Middle-earth and before. No-one knew for certain just how old the King's Armsmaster was (save perhaps his wife), but he had that _look_ in his green eyes possessed only by those who had been born before the rise of Ithil and Anor. The "starlight look" it was called among the Silvan folk.

"Are you one of the Firstborn, Master Alagos?" asked Legolas quietly. The Dark Elf gave him an amused look.

"Of course I am, young one. We all are. Even you."

"That was not what I meant, " replied Legolas, a little impatiently, "and you know that."

"I do," nodded Alagos with a smile, "and no, I am not one of those who awakened at Koivi-néni – or Cuiviénen, as it is called nowadays. But my parents were. And when they were captured by the Hunter, never to return, Nurwë, the leader of our Clan, took me into fostering care, for I was still very young at that time. With his people I wandered many long leagues, until we reached this forest, where we have dwelt ever since. The other three Clans followed Morwë to the South and made their homes in the mountains that are now called the Ered Nimrais."

"How many Clans did come here, to the Greenwood?" asked Legolas. For some reason, his mother always refused to talk about these things, so the other Faithful did the same. But Alagos rarely did what everyone else would. And this time was no exception.

"Three," he answered simply. "Our leaders thought that spreading our people would serve our survival better. Thus half of the Faithful came with Nurwë here, while the others went with Morwë to the South."

"So there were only six Clans of the Faithful?" Legolas was a little surprised, for the Avari still were a numerous people, even after three Ages of fighting the Darkness on_(in) the most dangerous places._

"Nay," replied Alagos grimly, "there were twelve. And a thirteenth one which – though it was the greatest in numbers – became separated early on from the rest of us and vanished in the vales of the Great River. There it mingled with other tribes and later became the Silvan folk."

"What about the other six Clans? "Legolas was afraid he knew the answer already – and a terrible one at that – but he needed certainty.

"They were captured while looking for a home," said Alagos slowly, "and those unfortunate enough not to be killed have become the forefathers of the Orcs. _If they survived the torture in the pits of Utumno, that is."_

Legolas shuddered. "Did you ever see your parents again?"

Alagos nodded slowly. "In a sense… though not in person. When Thangorodrim was broken and the pits of Utumno laid open, many of us went there secretly, to look for our beloved ones. I never found my parents – or my wife, who had been taken much later – but I found a brother."

Legolas stared at him in shock. "How is that possible?"

Alagos shrugged. "The Lost Ones were forced to breed – to produce more slaves for the Dark Lord whom he could torture and twist at his convenience. My brother had been born in the pits – born as an Orc already, but I still could find the features of my mother in his hideous face. The first few generations of Orcs were a lot more alike to us, though they had already lost their connection to the flesh of Arda and were doomed to die, just like as mortal Men are."

"What became of your… brother?" Legolas asked.

"I could not raise my hand against him," answered Alagos with a sigh. "He was the only sibling I had. Thus I brought him back to the Greenwood with me, and our Wise Women did what was in their power to heal him. He was never able to endure the light of Anor, but we walked and hunted under the starlight together for many long seasons. He learned our tongue, but lived in a cave, outside our dwellings, hiding from all eyes, even though he was not the only one brought back by their kin. They all led solitary lives, allowing only their closest kin to see them… until they died, either of old age (an age that was but the wink of an eye for us) or slain by wild beasts or some hiding dark creature that remained in the woods after Melko's defeat(3)."

"And the Faithful accepted them all?" asked Legolas in awe. This little aspect of the past was never discussed in his father's court – not within _his earshot, anyway. Alagos nodded solemnly._

"Of course we did. They were our flesh and blood, and we all knew just how easily we could have been in their place. Unlike Thingol's hidden realm, our dwellings had no higher powers to protect them. Besides, those early ones had little resemblance to the Orcs that you know now, three Ages and thousands of generations later. They were not irrevocably evil yet – not beyond healing. Their bodies were damaged beyond repair, true, yet their _fëar_ were not yet corrupted completely. Our Wise Women of old knew ways and methods to re-connect them with Arda… to a certain extent. Your grandmother and her mother were the strongest of all; they saved many of the Last Ones."

"Mother never told me aught about her ancestors," said Legolas sadly. "Naught beyond the fact that Nurwë was her grandfather. I wonder why. I wonder if she ever told Father these things."

"She did," replied Alagos simply. "The Queen never kept any secrets from King Thranduil; it would have been unwise to do so, with all the dark rumours among the Eldar about our people cross-breeding with Orcs and other wild tales. Thranduil – and even more so his father – needed to know the whole truth when they came to our forests to make an alliance with our people."

"Why has she never told us, then?" asked Legolas. "Would her sons, too, not need to know the truth?"

"These traditions are kept to the female line among the Faithful," said Alagos, "and not discussed with the males, unless they were directly involved, as I was. I believe the Queen left it to your father to tell you – if and when he found it necessary."

"Does that mean that Celebwen has known all this, all the time?" asked Legolas in surprise, as his older sister never cared much for the Avari traditions of their mother. Alagos nodded.

"She has been told, yea. But it only strengthened her urge to flee to the Sea, and so she finally moved to Mithlond. She never truly felt at home under the trees, not even as a small elfling, and often it seemed that our rituals frightened her. She inherited too much of your father's Sindarin blood. The Queen hoped that Aiwë would follow her path one day. But when we lost the little bird(4), the lady Lálisin chose Princess Indreâbhan to be her successor."

"Indreâbhan?" repeated Legolas, quite stunned. Alagos gave him a grim smile.

"What do you know of your betrothed, young one? Aside from the fact that you are not in love with her?"

To that Legolas had no answer, just looked a little ashamed. Alagos nodded.

"I thought so. She is an earth-healer, young one; mayhap not such a strong one as our Wise Women used to be, certainly not strong enough to protect a whole forest from the creeping darkness, but a healer nonetheless. Or do you believe the soil of Dor-Lelmin remains unstained by some whim of nature?"

Once again, Legolas had no answer. Alagos sighed. The prince was still so young, he should have been allowed to discover these simple truths on his own, but in these dark days there was simply no time for that. And at times 'twas better when someone other than the father took the difficult task upon him to open the eyes of the young ones. They were more likely to listen.

"I know you were taught the history of the Greenwood, young one," he began quietly, "but let the most important meeting be re-told by someone who witnessed it. I was one of those who accompanied Eredur son of Nurwë, our leader after Nurwë had been slain, at his first meeting with King Oropher. We travelled a long way on foot from our dwellings in the Emyn Duir to the Amon Lanc where Oropher had made his dwelling, shortly after he had come to the East. I witnessed the agreement they made – that, in order to unite our peoples, Prince Thranduil would wed a lady of Eredur's House. There were a few to choose from, and your father chose Lálisin, the daughter of Eredur's sister, although she was much older than him, for he took a liking to her at first sight. Yet it was also a choice for the good of his future realm; Thranduil would have married anyway, if not your mother, then one of her cousins. 'Tis an added blessing of Palúrien that the two liked each other right away and that this grew to deep love between them. An added blessing, not a condition."

Legolas shook his head in disbelief.

"Does anyone choose their life-mate out of love?" he asked bitterly.

"Few who are chosen to lead and protect an entire folk can follow their heart freely," answered the Dark Elf soberly. "Yet if you look at your own parents, or at the Lady and Lord of Dor-Lelmin, you will have to admit that no-one of them has made a wrong choice. Besides… the choice you would prefer to make does _not stand open to you. It never has."_

"I know," whispered Legolas, "and I shall do as is expected of me. But it hurts, Alagos. It hurts so much."

"Of course it hurts, young one," replied the older Elf, his cool green eyes full of sympathy and understanding. "Making the right choice is never easy. But I know you have the strength in you to choose well."

He rose from his grassy seat with the practised ease of a woodsman.

"Back in the Elder Days, our people believed that the _fëar_ of their beloved ones would nestle in ancient trees," he added as an afterthought, "for not even their spirits would be eager to leave the place of our birth. I know not if 'tis true or not. But I know that the Great Ash is the wisest tree in the whole forest. Listen to her, young one. She will guide you well."

"I wish I could understand the trees as you do," Legolas sighed.

"You will learn to understand them better, given enough time" said Alagos. "Alas, I cannot stay here and teach you right now. I have to go and meet Master Aiwendil and escort him to the King's palace."

"Aiwendil?" repeated Legolas in delight. "I knew not that he was to come to the Festival."

"Apparently, he was visiting Dor-Lelmin and was invited to the betrothal ceremony," explained Alagos. "Small wonder; the blessing of the _Istari_ is a good omen for the beginning of a marriage."

"I am glad he is coming," said Legolas. "He has been a friend of our family from the day he set foot in the Greenwood for the first time. He shares many memories with us – most of them sad, but some of them bright and happy."

"Do not wail among the shadows of the past, young one," Alagos warned him. "Enjoy the peace of the night – 'tis rare enough in these dark days. May the Great Ash give peace to your heart, too."

With that, he pulled his brown cloak tighter around himself and vanished between the trees without a trace, as was his wont. Legolas sighed. Not often did it happen that the Dark Elf, as he was called even among the woodland folk (not for his origins, as they _all_ were Moriquendi in the Wood, but more for his brooding nature) interfered with the affairs of the royal family, but when he did, his opinion was highly valued. He was the highest-ranking of the Faithful, after all, and also the second-eldest member of the court, after Galion.

Legolas knew that he had to make his choice ere the Festival was over. 'Twas not a matter of simple obedience – he would _always_ obey his father if the good of the Greenwood was at stake, no matter what the costs – this time he had to make a conscious choice. One that would persuade Indreâbhan to go through the betrothal ceremony with him. He had asked a lot from his selected bride during the last two hundred years. Indreâbhan had been most forthcoming and understanding. But their last conversation in-between the dances hadmade it very clear that his lady had come to the limits of her endurance.

_I am willing to wait for you, Laegalas, she had said, using the older form of his name, as always when they were talking about matters of great importance. __But I shall not share my bed with you while you are still thinking of him. Consider carefully whether you shall be able to open your heart to me, once he has gone to the West, for if you cannot, the betrothal shall be called off. I am not willing to live in Elrond's shadow 'til the end of Arda. Not even for the good of our people._

Legolas reassumed his meditative posture and allowed his mind to drift off into the state of waking dreams. This was how the woodland folk always sought connection with the whole of Arda – how they sought advice from the trees and the winds, the water and the very soil itself.

He waited patiently, opening up his heart to the soft whispers in the night. The trees spoke not in clear words or images, and to understand the barely audible sighs of the night breeze one needed focus and endurance. But the blood of the Faithful in his veins made his hearing keen for the murmurs of waters, for the almost nonexistent sound of the tree-roots growing under the earth, for the whisper of leaves above his head. Finally, all these voices melded together in his dream, and he saw the image of his mother approach him from under the Great Ash.

'Twas not the first time that the Queen had visited his dreams. They had always been very close, as Legolas was a late-born son and had been the youngest fledgling in the family nest for hundreds of years. Ever since his mother's horrible death in the dungeons of Dol Dúgol, he often asked himself if these visits were simple visions, sent to him by the Lady Palúrien, the thoughts of the Great Ash taking a familiar and beloved form, or if the _fëa of his mother hadnever truly left Middle-earth, staying behind to watch over the rest of their family._

Whatever the reason might be, Legolas was grateful for it. He missed the gentle wisdom of his mother terribly. As close as he was to his father, Thranduil did not share that very special mindset that only the blood of the Faithful could give. The King had gone great lengths to understand the ways of his wife and his people, and he had been reasonably successful in adapting to their lives. But it was a knowledge that he had acquired by learning and willpower. For Legolas, it was in his blood. That made him different from the rest of his family – the forest was not just his realm, it was his inheritance as well. His very life.

Queen Lálisin seemed not different from how he had seen her the last time, alive or in another vision. Tall and slender she was, like an elm-tree, after which she had been named, her thick, mahogany-hued hair put up and held together by a dark green cloth as was her wont in life. Almond-shaped eyes, bright and greenish-brown like polished chestnuts, shone in her gentle face, and in the moonlight even the freckles on her cheeks could be seen. She was fairly plain for an Elf, compared even with most other women of the Silvan folk. For Legolas, however, she was breathtakingly beautiful, and he knew that his father felt the same way.

"You are concerned, my little leaf," said the Queen gently, sitting down next to her son and embracing him gently; 'twas the great gift of the waking dreams that they gave other sensations, too, beyond mere sight.

"I stand before my hardest choice, Mother," replied Legolas. "I know _what I have to choose, but I know not __how. I wish not to lie to Indreâbhan, yet I cannot promise that I shall be able to love her as she deserves to be loved, once Elrond has gone. All the people that I have spoken with say I could do this – yet I am not that certain. And if I know not my own heart, how could I make such a promise?"_

"Remember, I was still with you when your father and the Lord Aghavannagh made that agreement," said the Queen. "Do you believe Thranduil would make such a decision without asking me first?"

"And you agreed?" asked Legolas in surprise. The Queen nodded.

"I always knew that you and Indreâbhan would be good for each other. The only thing I feared was that she would not have the courage to stand up for herself and demand from you what she deserves. I feared that she would accept this marriage without any conditions. That would have been a bad thing, for thus you would not have been equals. But it seems that she has finally grown up enough to make use of her rights. Do not be mistaken, my little leaf; she will not wed you just to make her father – or yours – happy. You will have to win her heart."

"But how can I do that, Mother, while mine is still occupied by someone else? She will not share – and I would never ask her to do so."

"Then you will have to make room for her in your heart," answered the Queen gently. "I know that right now Elrond needs you, for his burdens are heavy, heavier than even you might guess, and I say not that you should leave him alone, not yet. But you should be ready to close that part of your life when he is gone – without compromises, without looking back. From then on, your life and your heart should belong to your wife-to-be. Completely. Can you do that, my son? Do you have feelings in your heart for her, feelings that are strong enough to build a life upon?"

Legolas pondered over this question for a long time. He recalled old memories of times spent in Indreâbhan's pleasant company, before _and_ after he fell in love with Elrond. He weighed her shining beauty, her gentle wisdom, her generosity and understanding against the searing passion he harboured for the Lord of Imladris – and finally nodded.

"I believe so. But will I be able to make _her_ believe it?"

"You do not have to _make_ her believe it," his mother answered. "She knows it already. You only have to promise her that you will try. She is prepared to fight for you, to win your heart – if only you would allow it."

"And how am I supposed to do _that_?" asked Legolas doubtfully. His mother shrugged.

"Ask her to wed you. Show her that you have chosen and are willing to accept her conditions."

Legolas shook his head in disbelief. "It cannot be _that_ simple…"

"Oh, but it is," his mother answered with a smile. "All that truly matters _is simple, my son. 'Tis we who refuse to see it and try to make everything difficult, to make every choice hard." She rose. "I have to leave now, little leaf. Be steadfast. I know you have the strength in you to do the right thing."_

"Mother…," Legolas hesitated, "is this really you? Or are you but a vision, born from my concerns and dreams?"

"I am all that which you need to see and hear right now," the Queen answered. Then she bent down to kiss his brow and left slowly, vanishing between moonlight and shadows ere she quite reached the Great Ash.

Legolas looked after her for a long time, coming back to awareness slowly. To his great amazement, he felt the burden lifting a little from his heart. He was willing to make the choice that was expected from him, and it felt right.

In fact, he was amazed how _liberating_ it felt.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) For some reason I imagine that Wood-Elves considered trees as female creatures. Or at least some particular trees (certainly not the Huorns, though). I don't know why. Barathî is – according to the Ardalambion website – the Primitive Elvish form of Varda. I simply supposed that the Avari would use earlier forms, having been isolated from other Elves for a long time.

(2) The seasonal year. A _loa had six seasons of different length._

(3) Melko was an earlier name of Melkor (Morgoth). I let Alagos use this version, for he is a very ancient Elf, who never went to the West, thus he is most likely to use older names than the Eldar. Also, the name Morgoth (Black Foe) was given to Melkor by Fëanor; I doubt that an Avari would use it.

(4) The name Aiwë means simply "bird". She was Legolas' late-born baby sister, killed by a Giant Spider at a very young age. The whole tale is called "Little Bird" and is available on ff.net, my own website and in the "Trees Remember" archive.


	4. Interlude: Ithilwen

ASTONISHMENT IN MIRKWOOD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the typos and the weird grammar. Sue me and all you get are the typos. You sure that you do want them?**

**Rating: G**

**Author's notes: **

This story took a completely different turn from what was originally planned. I intended it to be a light-hearted humour fic (hence the stupid title), countering all those horrible Thranduil-bashings out there. But it turned into some sort of serious Legomance, and one cannot work against one's muse.

The short interlude below was written to lead over from the rather contemplative third chapter to the fourth one that matches more my original intention. I'm aware of the fact that the whole story is a little uneven, but I fear I will not be able to change that.

Giving someone a pet name (_epessë in Quenya) is often a sign of fondness. Ithilwen means roughly Moon-maiden, which is an indication of Indre­âbhan's pale golden hair and the fact that she was originally a Moon-Elf, ere I adopted her into Legolas' life. Also, Sindarin names are seldom longer than three syllables, so I thought her original name would be too long and complicated for the Mirkwood folks._

As always, heartfelt thanks to Gemma for beta-reading.

INTERLUDE: ITHILWEN 

Returning to the moonlight dances that were still going on in his father's place of festivals, Legolas soon found the Lady Indreâbhan among the merry crowd. Or outside of it, to be more accurate. She was sitting all by herself under a huge, ancient beech tree on the bank of the Forest River, watching the dances thoughtfully from afar.

She was still clad in white. Her long, shining hair, pale golden as the moonlight itself, flowed down her narrow back like starlit water._ Pale was her face, too. Even her lips seemed as if all colour had been drawn from them. Only her eyes shone, deep and dark as the waters of Cuiviénen ere Ithil's light had brightened the nights._

Legolas approached her openly, though not without a certain degree of hesitation. He was not sure how to address that which needed to be discussed. She had always been so honest with him – Legolas wanted to return that courtesy, but without hurting her feelings.

"Lady Ithilwen," he said, "may I join you for a moment?"

Indreâbhan arched a fine eyebrow at that addressing. Certainly, the name matched her appearance (and that of her whole clan, which was why the Northmen liked calling them Moon-elves). But like all Elves, she knew of the significance of name-giving between lovers, even though she and Legolas were not. So she simply nodded.

"You have been absent for a while," she said, and Legolas felt that this was actually a question.

"I went to the Great Ash," he answered, "to think over my choices and come to a decision."

"You sought guidance," stated Indreâbhan, and when Legolas nodded, she asked, "Have you found what you needed?"

"I have," said Legolas. "My path lies now clear before me. The only remaining question is: are you willing to tread it with me, side by side, 'til the end of Arda?"

"Do you truly _want me to walk by your side?" she answered with a question of her own._

Legolas nodded. Slowly, thoughtfully, but without hesitation.

"I have made my choice, my lady. If you are willing to wait for me just a little longer, I can promise you that my heart shall not be divided when we bind our lives together. All I ask you is a little more time. Right now Elrond still needs me to carry his burden. And carry it he must, for he is crucial to the fate of Middle-earth, or so I am told."

"I have already told you that I _am_ willing to wait," said Indreâbhan. "But once the time of waiting is over, you will be _mine. No regrets, no looking back, no comparing me with him, no secrets. Can you promise me __that?"_

"I can," replied Legolas, "and I do. And to prove toyou that I honestly mean what I am saying, I ask you to go through the betrothal ceremony with me, ere this Autumn Festival ends."

Indreâbhan remained very quiet for a while, only her beautiful face became even paler. Finally, she looked up, directly into Legolas' eyes.

"I shall hold you to that promise," she said in a quiet but firm voice. "I expect our bond to be one of love and fulfilment, not just some guise for an alliance between your father and mine. Thus I expect you to learn to love me, beyond the friendship that we already have, for I deserve to be loved. Just as I shall learn to love you as my husband and bond-mate. For you, too, deserve to be loved. We _can do this. Of that, I am certain – if we both are willing to try."_

"I am," said Legolas. And he truly was, even though he knew it would not be easy.

"Then I am willing to bond with you," replied Indreâbhan, smiling for the first time. "I shall go through the ceremony with you before the end of the Festival, and I shall wait 'til I can have your undivided love and attention. Make me not wait too long."

Legolas shook his head in awe. "I still fail to understand why you are willing to do this. It cannot be pleasant for you."

"Not always," admitted Indreâbhan. "I would prefer simply to follow the call of my heart as most of our people are allowed to do. And I certainly would prefer it if I did not have to live up to the memories of all that which you had – or still have – with Elrond. Yet I am not the fragile flower you apparently believe me to be. I am able and willing to fight for you."

Legolas could not resist repeating  the question he had already asked Egilstadir earlier. "Am I such a prize, then?"

And Indreâbhan gave him almost the same answer as her brother had. "You are. What we can have is worth fighting for."

"Then all I can wish you is a victorious fight," said Legolas, smiling. Indreâbhan returned his smile and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Worry not. I never pick a fight I have no chance of winning."

They laughed quietly and sat for a while in companionable silence. After a while, though, Legolas picked up the conversation again, for he still had one more thing to tell his lady.

"Do we want to tell our fathers what we have decided or should we wait 'til my return?" he asked. Indreâbhan frowned.

"You are leaving? Where for?"

"I shall lead a hunting party south from the Old Forest Road," explained Legolas. "As our need is great, Father decided to allow the hunters to enter Southern Mirkwood again. I thought Egilstadir told you."

"I have not spoken with my brother at any length since our arrival," said Indreâbhan. "Nor did I think that things in the forest had become this desperate since Queen Lálisin left us. That is a dangerous thing you are planning to do."

"It certainly is," Legolas agreed, "But we have no choice. The earth barely brings forth anything edible, aside of a few berries and mushrooms, and the game has become sparse. We are starving, Ithilwen, even though it is not obvious. Not yet, that is. The food your people brought will help us through the Festival, but unless the wildlife returns to our woods or the soil can be healed, so that we can cultivate our gardens again, we may not last much longer."

"The soil _can be healed," said Indreâbhan seriously, "and the growth can be strengthened. I would gladly offer my help in this matter. I may not be strong enough to perform an earth-healing ritual alone, but there are Wise Women of the Faithful in your father's court, and Mother can assist us, too. I shall call for the ritual soon, and while it cannot work wonders, it still will bring the poisoning of the soil to a halt."_

"You can do that?" asked Legolas in amazement. Indreâbhan shrugged.

"'Tis no wonder, nor does it need any greater powers than most women of the Faithful possess. It comes from our strong bond with Arda, not from any kind of wizardry. Mother and I are somewhat stronger than most, but not greatly so. Still, if we unite our strength with the elders of the Faithful, it should be enough… for a while."

"And afterwards?" asked Legolas. Indreâbhan sighed.

"That I cannot tell. As long as the Necromancer sits in Dol Dúgol, all paths are clouded with uncertainty. But we shall do what we can, for the forest is in dire need of healing. When I touch the bark of the trees, I can hear their laments as the poison creeps up from the earth through their roots."

"Are they in danger?" Legolas was alarmed. "Are we in danger of losing our forests? How come that the trees never talked to me about this?"

"They surely did," said Indreâbhan," but you are not an earth-healer, and thus could not understand. 'Tis not your fault. Worry not, though. The trees of the Greenwood are old and strong. They can endure much ere they fall. And we shall see that they receive the help they need to heal."

Their conversation was interrupted by young Rhimlath, who had been sent by Galion to call them back to the King's table.

"The guests want our Princess to sing," said Legolas' childhood friend apologetically. "It has been a long time since we heard your lovely voice, my Lady."

Indreâbhan was clearly not happy about this, but her strong sense of duty won over her slight unwillingness, as always. They returned to the feasting place, and a great, silver-stringed harp was brought forth and offered to Indreâbhan to play.

Legolas sucked in his breath in surprise. That beautiful harp had once belonged to his grandfather, and since Oropher's death rarely had anyone played it, as Thranduil preferred his flute and Legolas had little interest in playing any instrument. He remembered Lindir, the uniquely gifted young minstrel of Imladris bringing the harp to life once during a visit, but that was all. What might have moved the King to ask his future daughter-in-law to play precisely this harp?

Indreâbhan seemed aware of the honour given to her. She positioned the wondrous instrument with great care, and slid her strong, slender fingers across the strings, listening if they were tuned properly. Finding everything in order, she gave a small nod, thought for a moment, then began to play.

Thranduil and all those members of his court who had follower Oropher from Doriath to the East, raised their heads surprised ere Indreâbhan even began to sing. The melody alone was enough to make them recognize the lay of Lúthien Tinúviel's lengthening spell. This was a lay rarely sung, as it carried the memories of a glory long gone and of bitter loss. And yet, as Indreâbhan raised her clear, ringing voice, it was the feeling of triumph that filled all their hearts. Triumph and hope that – just as Lúthien had done it in times even darker than the current ones – they, too, would overcome the darkness one day.

_And Lúthien now was left alone._

_A magic song of Men unknown_

_she sang, and singing then the wine_

_with water mingled three times nine;_

_and as in golden jar they lay_

_she sang a song of growth and day;_

_and as they lay in silver white_

_another song she sang, of night…(1)_

And listening to the voice of his bride-to-be, as she sang of growth and strength and other wonders, Legolas felt hope returning in his own heart, too.

Mayhap the blessings of the Lord Aldaron and the Lady Palúrien would follow them on their hunting trip in Southern Mirkwood.

Mayhap their fate would take a change for the better, just this one time.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(1) See: The Lays of Beleriand, pp. 246-247 in the Del Rey edition.


	5. Chapter 4: Strange Prey

ASTONISHMENT IN MIRKWOOD

**by Soledad**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the typos and the weird grammar. Sue me and all you get are the typos. You sure that you do want them?**

**Rating: G**

**Summary: The hunting party of Legolas discovers a company of Dwarves in the forest. What will they do?**

**Author's notes: **

The descriptions of this chapter follow ''The Hobbit'' closely. Some lines are directly quoted. See footnotes.

Nimphal and Brandor are two real-life friends of mine who helped in the creation of their characters, following the good old role-playing tradition. Their Sindarin names were created by two other friends (and fellow writers) Casey Toh and Finch, whom I owe my sincerest thanks.

Also, many thanks to Gemma for beta reading-

CHAPTER 4: Strange Prey 

[Mirkwood, in the year 2980 of the Third Age – several days later](1)

The small party of hunting Elves – all six of them – walked quietly in single file on the Old Forest Road westwards. They had taken the shortest way possible: along the western border of the forest and then following the Celduin – that the Northmen called the River Running – southwards 'til they reached the Road. Now they had been walking on it for what seemed Ages(2). For even though they were well used to the darkening of their woodland home, seldom did they wander off this far, and the knowledge of that fact made them feel gloomy.

The Road itself was gloomy, too – it looked like a dark tunnel, framed by great trees that leant together above it into some sort of arch, too old and strangled with ivy and hung with lichen to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The quiet under the shadowy arch of great branches was so deep that even their light Elven footfalls seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them and listened.

For the keen eyes of the Silvan folk it was not difficult to pierce the dimness and see quite a little way to either side in that darkened green glimmer. Occasionally even a slender beam of Anor had the luck to slip in through some opening in the leaves far above, and, still more lucky in not being caught in the tangled boughs and matted twigs beneath, stabbed down thin and bright before them. But this was seldom and it soon ceased altogether(3).

That in itself would cause no problem for the Wood-Elves. Master Bowman Brandor(4) was concerned nevertheless. This narrow road, that wound in and out among the trunks, was the ultimate trap. He wished they could go over the trees, but the brittle old branches might not be able to carry their weight – at least not as long as they still followed the Road.

The tall, broadly built, ash-blond archer had walked many perilous paths in his long life. He was not a young Elf anymore, not even by Elven measures. Born in Doriath, not long after the Elvenking himself, Brandor _[had] fought the invading Dwarves as well as the sons of Fëanor, protecting Dior Eluchíl – and failing. His father's people belonged to the Leikvin – Danian Elves who remained east of the Ered Luin(5) – and to his father's kindred had he fled, with his three brothers, after the fall of Doriath. There they lived 'til the whole clan decided to seek refuge under King Oropher's rule, somewhen at the beginning of the Second Age. So yea, he __was used to the life under trees and all the perils that the woods could hide. And yet, this walk towards the darker parts of the forest – and the Tower of the Necromancer – filled his heart with unease._

A slight noise from the side made him raise his great bow with the speed of which only a seasoned warrior was capable of – but it was a couple of black squirrels only, looking for something to eat. His keen eyes caught a glimpse of them, running down the tree-trunks and whisking off the path, only to scuttle behind another trunk. Brandor lowered his weapon again. There was no use wasting his arrows on them – they were horrible to taste, and besides, they could not afford to make a fire.

"We shall need to leave the Road, soon," said in a low voice Brathadir, Brandor's twin who looked so like his brother that even other Elves found it hard to keep them apart. "We are near the Enchanted River, if these cobwebs are any indication."

With that, he pointed at the dark, dense cobwebs with their thick threads that were stretched from tree to tree or tangled in the lower branches on either side of the road.

"We have reached Spider territory," Falathron, their third brother, remarked with disgust. Minethlos, the fourth one, only nodded quietly, shooting a worried glance towards their young Prince, the leader of this particular hunting party. __

Prince Legolas needed not to be lectured about the Giant Spiders, of course; nor was he an inexperienced young elfling anymore. He had fought many vicious fights against the fell creatures that were infesting the forest; still, everyone in Mirkwood felt very protective of him, and that was the reason Silinde had selected Brandor and his three brothers to accompany him.

And where they went, went also Nimphal(6), Brandor's life-mate – a small, quiet Silvan woman with the pale face, soft voice – and deadly hands. A Master Bowman herself, she was as quick as lightning and heard better than any other archer under Silinde's command. With no-one else would the Prince be safer than with the five of them.__

"At least the Spiders cannot block the path with their webs," she commented with a shrug. "Whatever magic keeps the way clear, I am grateful for it."__

The others nodded and went on, listening to the strange, grunting and shuffling noises in the undergrowth. As well as they knew the woods, not even they could guess what might be hurrying among the fallen leaves that lay piled endlessly thick on the forest floor. This was a different place from their current dwellings, even though in Legolas' childhood all this had once been part of the realm of King Oropher, his grandsire He still remembered Lasgalen, Oropher's tree city on the slopes of the Emyn Duir, the wide _telain_ high upon the magnificent trees where he was born – in a happier time, before Greenwood the Great began to darken.

And dark it had become indeed, even for them, who spent their lives under the trees. The longer they went on and on, the more Legolas longed for a sight of the sky, for a golden beam of Anor to warm up his heart. For the gentle caress of the wind upon his face. The heavy air lay motionless under the forest roof, and it was everlastingly still, dark and stuffy – very different from his childhood memories. It seemed to have an ill will, determined to suffocate them slowly and mercilessly.

_If we cannot keep the Darkness from creeping northwards, this is what our realm will become shortly, he thought with a chill. _The Shadow has swallowed two-third of the forest already – we are the last obstacle in its way.__

"Anor has set." Brandor's voice intruded his grim thoughts. They all could feel the sunset, even though they could not see the sky. "We should rest – and we should do so _on the road. I can feel Wargs – from far away, but they are closing."_

"As if the Spiders were not bad enough," scowled Falathron. "'Tis unusual to see them north of the Old Forest Road."

"They are growing bolder with every passing _loa_," nodded Brathadir grimly. "How long 'til we reach the Road, anyway?"

"Two more days, _if we cross the Emyn Duir in the morn," answered Brandor. "We should reach the Enchanted River in one more march, cross the water by boat and come out from under the trees at the westernmost slopes of the Hill."_

"Unless the paths have changed since we went due south the last time, and we are lost already," added Minethlos gloomily. Unlike his brothers, he was less than cheerful by nature.

Legolas shook his head. "The paths cannot be changed, not the old ones, built and enchanted by the Faithful. My mother told me once when we still dwelt in the Tree City of Emyn Duir, not far from here, that the old roads were made by the elders of the Avari, back in the starlit days, before the rising of Ithil and Anor. 'Tis said that they have not changed ever since, and no ordinary evil can touch them – no Wargs, no Spiders, nor other foul beasts."

"What about Orcs?" asked Nimphal. Legolas shrugged.

"I know not. The Noisy Folk has evolved since the Elder Days. Mayhap they _are a threat on the road. We should set a guard while the others rest, for I cannot be sure that _these_ trees would warn us. Their hearts are black, it seems."_

"I shall take first watch," said Brandor, taking his hereditary bow, named "The Swift Raven of Battle" by his great-grandfather in the First Age and worn by the eldest son in every generation of their family ever since. "You rest."

And thus they had an unruly rest, taking turns to watch and glaring at the pale, malicious eyes that watched them from under the trees or above from the branches, and they were glad to go on the next morn. For some of those eyes were huge and bulbous, and they knew that the Spiders had caught up with them.

After another march, just as Brandor had guessed, they finally reached the Enchanted River. It flowed deep and fast to the northeast, and they were relieved to see its black water, for they knew all they had to do was to walk beside it, against the current, and they would  reach their destination. To their surprise, though, they heard loud – and none too pleasant –voices from the direction they were marching.

"_Yrch?" asked Nimphal in a whisper. Brandor shook his head._

"It sounds different. We should continue in the trees, though."

All agreed with him, and at once they swung up intothe trees that were a little stronger and sturdier here, approaching the source of the voices with great care. Brandor had been right: they did not sound like Orc-yells; still, one could not be suspicious enough. Finally, they reached the ford of the Enchanted River, the very place where once Oropher's wooden bridge had crossed the narrow of the water – now long rotten and fallen, leaving only the broken posts near the bank. This was the place where the woodland folk always kept a boat to cross the water, for even they would have fallen in enchanted sleep had they tried to swim across.

The six Elves came as far toward the ruined bridge as they dared – they still could not know who (or what) was making such noise on the other side of the water. Legolas went first, for his eyes were the keenest; a fact that the archers had to admit, even though they were not happy that he exposed himself to unknown perils. When he finally located the source of the voices, however, he could not help but grin broadly.

A small figure knelt on the brink of the river – hardly four feet tall, mayhap even less, with a round head and curly brown hair – and peering forward, cried in a rather high and piercing voice, "There is a boat against the far bank!" Now why could it not be this side!"

_For we need it for our own purposes, little one, Legolas commented to himself, still grinning. Whoever these people might be, they clearly had no idea how dangerous yelling around in Mirkwood could be. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look._

The small stranger had no beard, and a second, closer look revealed that he was barefoot – walking on rather large and hairy feet indeed. That, and the fact that he was using the Common Speech, made Legolas almost certain that the stranger was one of the Halflings Mithrandir used to visit, far away in the West… almost as far as the towers of the High-Elves, on the way to the Havens. What was such a small creature doing in Mirkwood? And how many of them might be there?

At that moment another voice sounded from behind the Halfling – deep, guttural and harsh. "How far away do you think it is?" the second voice asked.

Legolas stiffened involuntarily, not listening to the conversation any longer. That second voice belonged to a Dwarf, there could be no doubt about that. Soon he discovered not only the owner of the second voice – a rather big, important-looking Dwarf with imposing behaviour – but several others of that stunted race as well. The different colours of their hoods made it easier to count them – after all, a twelve-yard-wide river was no challenge for keen Elven eyes. Legolas collected thirteen of them, aside from the Halfling, before retreating between the trees again, where the water would not carry his voice.

"There is a whole company of _Naugrim_," he told his escort in analmost-whisper. "Thirteen of them, unless I miscounted… and one of the Halflings Mithrandir is so fond of."

"What might they be doing here?" asked Brandor with a frown. Legolas sighed.

"I cannot say. At the moment they are apparently trying to get our boat – which means they intend to cross the river."

They looked at each other in concern. Uninvited visitors had seldom been welcome in Mirkwood, even less so in these times of dire need. Not to mention how furious King Thranduil would be about their trespassing. The King had good enough contacts to_(with)_ the remaining Dwarves of the Ered Mithrin, but these here were obviously of a different sort, or they would not have come from the southwest. This did not look good.

"What shall we do?" asked Nimphal quietly. "If they cross the river and rouse the Spiders with their noise…" she trailed off. None of them needed help to imagine the consequences. Not that they were not able to defend themselves – Spider-hunting was part of the Border Guard's regular duties – but Elves were preparing the clearings for their family feasts all over the northern part of the wood… if the Spiders were driven northwards, the elflings, who were helping with the preparations, would be in great peril.

"We must alert our people," decided Legolas. "We cannot keep them from crossing the river; that would reveal our presence, and we would be hard-pressed to stand up to thirteen of the _Naugrim_, unless we want to shoot them from the treetops. Nay, 'twould be better to follow them and find out what they are up to."

"But we have been sent out for the hunt," Brathadir reminded him, more than a little disappointed.

"There are a dozen other hunting parties out there," replied Legolas, "who, hopefully, will bring home rich bounty from the hunt. Yet we alone can keep an eye on these _Naugrim and see that they do no harm. You, Falathron and Minethlos, will hurry forward to warn our people, while Nimphal, Brandor and I shall remain to watch the __Naugrim."_

The archers tried to protest, but Legolas gave them what was known all over Mirkwood (and beyond) as "the Thranduil look" – that peculiar expression of impatience and cold rage that silenced even the bravest warriors of the Silvan folk. In these moments the young Prince showed an uncanny resemblance to his royal father, and it was usually unwise to disobey him, as he had_ inherited Thranduil's tempers as well._

Thus the three younger archers shut their mouths and turned back obediently, while Legolas crept forward again to see what the Dwarves had been doing in the meantime.

It seemed that the stunted folk had been very busy indeed. They had already succeeded in pulling the boat over to the other riverbank with the help of a long rope that had been fitted with a large iron hook at one end. Now they were about to ferry themselves across the water, fighting about in which order they should come. A particularly big and fat Dwarf seemed the most dissatisfied, grumbling all the time while the others were pulling the boat back and forth between the two river banks with the help of a second rope that they had thrown across the water, right into the branches of a nearby tree. Legolas was glad that he and his people had been deeper in the woods – being caught by one of those nasty iron hooks would have been painful.

In that way, one by one, the Dwarves got safely over to the other side of the Enchanted River. The very fat Dwarf being the last one and about to climb up on to the shore, when Legolas perked up his ears. He heard a flying sound of hooves from the path behind them.

"Be ready," he whispered to his remaining companions. "The others must have roused some prey behind us. We might not return with empty hands, after all."

They prepared their hunting bows, but it was already too late. Out of the gloom under the dark trees came suddenly the dark shape of a flying deer – a magnificent beast, its bony crown as thick as a Man's arm. It changed straight into the Dwarves and bowled them over, then gathered itself for a leap. High it sprang and cleared the water with a mighty jump, too far for the Elven bows to hit it from up in the branches. Brandor's "Raven" was the only one strong enough for a good shoot, but he was also in the worst possible position.

Legolas clenched his teeth in frustration; that single deer could feed the whole court during the feast. _A plague on the Naugrim and their noisy feet_, he thought angrily. He had not seen such a great, well-fed beast for years in the northern woods.

Yet the deer did not reach the other side in safety. One of the Dwarves, obviously fearing that some hidden guardian of the boat might appear, had bent his bow and fitted an arrow as soon as they had landed. Now he sent a swift and sure shot into the leaping beast. As it reached the further bank, it stumbled. The shadows swallowed it up, but Legolas could hear the sound of hooves quickly falter and then go still.

The Dwarves, however, were alarmed by the shrill wailing of the little Halfling. Apparently, the very fat Dwarf had only sent one foot on land when the hart bore down on him and sprang over him. He had stumbled, thrusting the boat away from the bank, and then toppled back into the dark water, his hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge, while the boat span slowly off and disappeared.

"Quickly!" Legolas hissed to Nimphal, who was the fastest of them, while the Dwarves launched a desperate rescue action on behalf of their unlucky comrade. "Get the boat and bring it back to this side; you can catch it in the curve some hundred feet from here. Brandor, cross the river with her and get that deer! I shall not leave it behind for the Wargs, while our people suffer hunger. Go!"

Knowing that there was no use arguing with their Prince in a mood like this – not to mention that he was right – Nimphal and Brandor ran off quickly and noiselessly, while Legolas remained sitting in the branches and watched the Dwarves pulling the fat one out of the water with the help of some more ropes – after which the unlucky Dwarf promptly fell asleep. The others tried to shake him awake, but to no end. Legolas smiled. He had fallen into the Enchanted River himself, more than once, so he knew that the magic would fade shortly.

From afar he could hear the dim blowing of horns in the wood and the sound as of dogs baying. It seemed that the other hunting parties were luckier than his own. The presence of dogs gave him the hint he needed – the Faithful, too, were out hunting. Only the Avari had hounds that were trained for the hunt.

Suddenly, on the path below him some white deer appeared, a hind and fawns as snowy white as the hart had been dark. They glimmered in the shadows, and the sight of them filled Legolas' heart with joy – it had been many seasons since he last saw white deer in Mirkwood. Three of the Dwarves leaped to their feet and loosed off arrows from their bows. None seemed to find their mark. The deer turned and vanished in the trees as silently as they had come, followed by the laments of the Dwarves.

Legolas descended from the tree without the slightest noise. He approached the deer carefully. They stood close and watched him with bright, unmoving eyes. He murmured softly in the ancient tongue of the Faithful, entreating them to flee to the North. No Elven archer would raise his or her bow against white deer for many seasons to come. Not until they had become numerous, filling the northern forest again.

The hind allowed him close enough that he could stroke her head and neck, flattening her ears in delight as if listening. Legolas whispered a protective spell over her and the fawns; a spell that every Elven archer would recognize, at least those of the Faithful and the Silvan folk, for they were accustomed to the use of earth magic. The good beasts would be safe, unless they ran into Wargs or other evil things. But even for that, the peril was lesser in Thranduil's realm. And the return of the white deer mayhap would signal the return of better luck to the woodland folk.

Nimphal appeared next to him soundlessly, as if stepping out of a tale herself. The deer looked at her with interest; then they turned and walked away on the old path northwards.

"Brandor has found the hart," whispered Nimphal. "He will take the boat and row up the river to the King's palace. What will _we_ do now?"

Legolas bit his lower lip, thinking hard.

"We shall escort the deer as far as the beech wood," he finally decided. "We cannot risk losing them; this may be the only chance for getting the deer back into our forest. It is but a short way on the old path, it should not take us longer than two days."

"What about the _Naugrim?"_

"They will need more time for the same path, I think. More so since they will have to carry the fat one who had fell into the Enchanted River. Once the deer are safe, we shall return to watch them again."

Nimphal gave him a doubtful look. "I believe not that the King will allow you to postpone your bonding ceremony, just to watch the _Naugrim_ some more."

Legolas tilted his head to the side. "We shall see. These _Naugrim_ are here for a purpose. And do tell me, what do _Naugrim desire strongly enough even to face the perils of our darkened woods?"_

"Gold," prompted Nimphal, feeling a little insulted; every elfling could answer such a plain question. "Jewels. Riches of any sort."

"So it is," agreed Legolas amiably. "And since they are here, that means some old hoard has to be somewhere close, too. Now, would it not be mutually useful if the King offered them his hospitality for a part of that hoard they are looking for?"

"The King is not very fond of the _Naugrim_," Nimphal pointed out carefully. Legolas shrugged.

"Depends on the _Naugrim. Some of those who dwell under the Ered Mithrin helped to carve our fortress out of the hill's living stone, as you know."_

"That was then," replied Nimphal soberly. "This is now. And right now, these _Naugrim are invading our woods, frightening what little wildlife there still can be found – and who knows how much trouble they still are apt to cause? The King will _not_ be pleased."_

"Which is the very reason why the _Naugrim_ will have to be watched," prompted Legolas, his eyes sparkling with delight. Nimphal shook her head.

"You are devious, Legolas!" Among themselves, Legolas never demanded to be addressed by rank.

"I am learning to be," he admitted, his good humour fading a little. "One day I will have to take over the burden of kingship, after all, and I need to be prepared. Now let us hurry up, ere we lose track of these deer."

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

**End notes:**

(1) Yes, even Elves need some time to walk almost a hundred miles from Thranduil's palace to the Old Forest Road. Marvellous, but they can't just grow wings and fly. Though they probably would not mind. :)

(2) I might mess up a little with Mirkwood's geography. The map does not show the Enchanted River cross the Old Forest Road… for the sake of my story; however, I let the river be a little longer. Sorry.

(3) See: ''The Hobbit'', p. 138.

(4) The name means Fortress Dweller in Sindarin. The bow's name would be Celchornag – more or less.

(5) The Blue Mountains that once parted Beleriand from Eriador. The Leikvin or Danian Elves are actually Nandor (= Green-Elves). Hey, 'tis not my fault that Tolkien gave everyone and everything at least three dozen different names!

(6) Her name means White Wave in Sindarin. The other names were borrowed from Tolkien himself.


End file.
